John Thornton's Prize
by ALL9
Summary: PWP. John's proposal to Margaret after the worker's riot takes an unusual turn and they end up much, much closer than either expected, even though it has been on John's mind...a lot. Rated M - an adult-themed, lemony, light-hearted romp.


**Milton, Hale Residence, the Day after the Workers' Riot at Marlborough Mill**

John Thornton was in the sitting room at the Hale residence waiting nervously for Margaret. He paced, rehearsing silently what he would say to her. He planned to thank her for facing down the bloody rioters the day before and then propose marriage. Of course, _she_ was the one who pressured him to go out there in the first place – basically told him to "man up" and talk to the frothing, red-eyed beasts. Still, she showed remarkable bravery or foolhardiness, depending on one's perspective, trying to shield him with her own body. He couldn't stop thinking about her – almost from the first moment he met her. He was smitten; he wanted to make her his wife, and make her his own. Maybe if they married his obsession would subside. Anyway, he _had_ to ask her to marry him, just for his own peace of mind.

Even in those moments of danger during the riot, he was extremely aware of her closeness and imagined pulling her to the ground, with him on top – right there – right then. Casting off his steadfast, proper self… Just thinking about those moments, when she was so close, an appealing fantasy took shape in his mind….

_The rioters had broken through the gate and rushed to the front of the Thornton house. He had just secured the doors to the factory and told the Irish workers to stay away from the windows and out of the rioters' view. Margaret implored John to go talk to the workers instead of allowing the soldiers to beat them into submission. The soldiers would arrive any minute. He was about to go out on the porch, when Margaret ran to him, pulling him away from the door._

"_Mr. Thornton, I beg you do not go out there – the rioters have picked up bricks and I'm certain they will injure you. They will not be reasonable – they are angry and soon to be violent – it is unsafe. I will not see you harmed on my account," she stated breathlessly, holding his arm. She was frantic._

"_Miss Hale, you should not be here in any case. I'll do what I can, after all, I brought the Irish here and they are at risk from this violence, even more so than me," he said dismissing her and turning toward the door again._

"_No!" she cried, and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him, burying her head in his chest, to prevent him from leaving._

_He stopped, no longer thinking of the rioters, only that they were alone – wonderfully and finally alone together. Placing his hands on her waist, "Margaret, look at me," he said softly._

_She lifted her head from his chest, venturing an anxious look into his eyes. His eyes were intense and sharp with…desire…lust? He placed his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him, pressing his lips firmly against hers, then teasing his tongue between them, gaining entrance. He filled her mouth and began thrusting his tongue against hers while pulling her into a tighter embrace, unbuttoning and then slipping her dress down, then her chemise, both pooling at her feet, exposing soft curves spilling over her corset. He unlaced the obstruction. They ended up together in a tangle of arms and legs and no barrier of clothing as caresses led to more heated exploration. Hands were frantically stroking and kneading bare skin, mouths on sensitive breasts and then lower to taste swollen flesh….theirs was an exciting, passionate completion._

_Maddeningly, it was a rendezvous that only happened in his mind. One of many that he imagined having with Margaret. It always ended the same – she was under him gasping his name over and over as she clenched around him and he found exquisite climax and release. All of their moments, stolen looks, fingers brushing bare skin, frayed nerves anticipating more…until they finally became one. One flesh – one body entwined._

In reality, she ended up being knocked unconscious from a brick for her efforts, trying to reason with an angry mob. Luckily, she was not hurt too badly, but she saved John from injury and managed to break up the strike. That act of violence took away whatever solidarity remained in the strikers – they returned to work, ashamed and broken in resolve.

The door to the sitting room opened quietly and Margaret came in subdued, eyes downcast, perhaps still feeling the effects of her head injury. John sighed heavily, reluctantly pushing away thoughts and images of Margaret under him, crying out while he thrust himself inside, faster and faster. He walked to the door and closed it behind her.

"Miss Hale, I'm afraid I was very ungrateful yesterday."

"You have nothing to be grateful for," she answered quickly – too quickly, he thought.

"I think that I do," he pursued.

"Well, I only did the least that anyone would have," she blushed, raising her head slightly.

"That can't be true," he answered, confused.

"I was after all responsible for placing you in danger. I would have done the same for any man there." She clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting and walked to the window.

"_Any_ man? So you approve of that violence. You think I got what I deserved?" A slow burn started to grip him, as his unruly temper took hold.

"No, of course not. But they were desperate. I know if you had talked to them..." she said, almost pleading.

Thornton took a deep breath, tamping down his anger, and interrupted her, saying curtly, "I forgot - you imagine them to be your friends."

"But if you would just be reasonable," she implored, walking closer, the table between them.

He raised his eyebrows quizzically. "_Me_? Are you saying that I am _unreasonable_?"

Becoming increasingly anxious at his irritation, she said, "If you would talk with them, and not set the soldiers on them, I know that they—"

He snapped. "They will get what they deserve. Miss Hale, I didn't just come here to thank you. I came because...I think it very likely...I know I have never found myself in this position before. It's difficult to find the words. Miss Hale, my feelings for you are very strong-"

He stammered slightly while he tried to regain his composure. This was not going at all how he had planned. He wanted to express how she affected him, how she consumed his thoughts and feelings, but instead they were arguing and he found himself becoming angry. She did not understand.

"Please, stop. Please don't go any further," she interrupted, walking away again to stand at the window.

He narrowed his eyes. "_Excuse me_?"

"Please don't continue in that way," she said anxiously.

He drew near and said heatedly, "You think me _unworthy_ of you? I think I deserve to know _why_ I am so offensive."

"Forgive me. That is not what I meant."

He stopped, uncertain. "What _did_ you mean then, if I may ask?"

"I do not want you to say something to me out of obligation – out of a gentleman's obligation. If we are to speak of anything that binds us together, it should be based on truth of feeling, not convention. I am tired of convention and being presented in drawing rooms like some prized calf – belonging to a poor farmer."

Whatever tension existed quickly evaporated in that moment. "Margaret, _calves_ are not presented in drawing rooms," he smiled.

She smirked, blushing in embarrassment. "That did not come out quite right."

He pulled her hands into his, kissing one and then the other softly.

"I feel no sense of obligation…to the farmer _or_ his calf," he said grinning.

Turning her head slightly, she gazed at him thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes in mock warning.

"I spoke to you about my feelings because I _love_ you, I have no thought for convention…or obligation. It is not obligation that _moves_ me. Here in the north, we do not sit on the same rules of polite society. All those old markers…determining what is proper and what is not. It is form without substance as far as I am concerned."

"You know _Mr_. _Thornton_, you are a _catch_, here in Milton, but I have no fortune to make myself more attractive to your…bank account," she teased.

"You do not need anything to make you more attractive to me, Margaret. Well, perhaps a cow bell…but other than that," he snorted. She would have swatted his head, if she had use of her hands, but he held both tightly, just in case.

"I wish to marry you because I love you. It is simple – no convention, no obligation, and no pretense. _Will you marry me_? Because more than anything else in the world, I want to marry _you_. And Margaret, will you, for the love of God, please call me _John_?"

Margaret looked at him carefully, serious now. "This is not the best time to marry, John," she said quietly.

"Because of…your mother?" John asked tentatively.

"My mother, certainly, but also because of your mill."

"I can handle the mill – all will be well and good, in time, it need not be a concern. But your mother…would it not be best for her to see you marry, while she can still…enjoy it?" he finished, delicately.

"I want to marry under _happy_ circumstances. Not under a cloud of family sickness and workers' unrest," Margaret explained, sounding upset.

He pulled her to him and guided her hands around his waist. Brushing a thumb over her lips, he cupped a hand under her chin, lifting her eyes to his, "Margaret, I want to marry you – I would marry you today if you agreed. Do you want to marry _me_?"

"Yes, John, I want to marry you, but…."

He pulled her to him and kissed her softly at first and then more firmly. They moved away from the window until she was pressed against a wall. Now he was kissing her hard. She moaned deep in her throat as he thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth, while the tension in her belly gathered and coiled. A desperate need quickly sparked between them, burning like white-hot fire.

She pressed forward, wanting to feel all of him flush against her. Grinding his torso against her only relieved his mounting desire minimally. He needed more. Pressing his hand between her legs, he rubbed rhythmically against her sex. She gasped, throwing her head back as he licked and kissed the soft skin of her neck. He reached inside her bodice, pulling out a plump breast, squeezing it and pushing his palm across the nipple, feeling it harden.

Bending his head, he took the taut nipple into his mouth, groaning as he moved his tongue over the nipple, sucking and lightly biting the fullest part of the breast while rubbing harder between her legs, still covered in cloth – too much cloth.

He pulled her to the ground, quickly pushing up her dress and petticoats, exposing a thin cotton undergarment. Removing the flimsy fabric, he pushed her legs apart. The mass of light brown hair above her pink cunt was intoxicating. He ran his fingers through the soft tuft and felt the wetness coating the pink folds, seeping out as her body responded, creating a smooth slick entrance. His erection strained against his pants, hard and throbbing with need. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes, breathing heavily as he stroked the hot, wet flesh between her legs. She pushed hard against his hand, and whispered, "_Please_, John…"

Now he kissed her gently, still stroking her swollen, slick flesh. She moaned as he pushed two then three fingers inside her, in and out, rhythmically. There was no hesitation - they were already bound together. She allowed the feeling of need and longing to overwhelm her. Her desire would merge with his. "Oh my God," she whimpered, desperate for release. He groaned against her mouth, biting her lower lip.

Pulling her other breast free, he pushed up the nipple and clamped his mouth on it, sucking hard. His mouth was hot, almost scorching against her tender skin. She arched into him. Nipping at her earlobe, he murmured in a husky, gravelly voice, "I'm going to make you mine now. I've wanted you...so long…I want to bury myself in you."

She was breathing hard, moaning and moving with the rhythm of his thrusting fingers. He straddled between her legs, still kissing her tenderly and pumping the soft flesh of her breast again and again. Every thrust - every squeeze, shot a hot spike between her legs, making her throb and writhe and grind against him. The ache kept building, radiating from her sex, creating a tight, desperate need for release. It was becoming unbearable.

"That's my beautiful girl. Move with me…come to me…," he ground out. His moan turned into a low throated growl as he anticipated plunging deep into her. He unfastened his pants and slid the barriers of clothing out of the way. The tip of his cock was already slick and milky.

"I can't wait to feel you," he purred.

He positioned himself at her entrance – just moving slightly inside her soft folds. She tried to push onto him. "John…_now_," she whispered impatiently.

"Do you want me? Will you be mine?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes, make me yours…I can't wait anymore," she cried, desperate and ready to tumble over an edge she could almost reach.

He slowly moved into her – just an inch – clamping his mouth down hard on hers to muffle their cries - then slammed forward and started thrusting hard and fast. He pulled out nearly completely, and slammed in again...and again…and again.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling hard. When she started digging her nails into his scalp, he grabbed her hands and held them over her head. She bucked upwards and writhed as she climaxed, the explosions inside her finally releasing the unbearable tension. He kept squeezing her breast – pumping it in rhythm with his final thrusts, spiking her climax. As he felt her clench around him, it brought him to his own climax, shooting hot, white fire into her core. They collapsed on each other, breathing hard, as the frenzy of their union subsided and finally stilled.

_Much better than any fantasy_, he thought, content and satiated.

They were still joined. He rose up on his elbows and kissed her gently. She blinked, not quite believing what just happened, except that it was _still_ happening - he was _inside_ her.

"My God, John, what have we done?"

He kissed her again slowly, lazily. "Margaret, we no longer have any need to debate the right circumstances to be together. We will make our _own_ happiness. And I really think we should get married today after all."


End file.
